


A fucking metaphor

by aphrodite_mine



Category: Actor RPF
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-30
Updated: 2012-08-30
Packaged: 2017-11-13 04:26:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/499462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphrodite_mine/pseuds/aphrodite_mine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Formerly posted as 'Five Times Ellen Was Gay' which was a horrible, horrible title.</p>
    </blockquote>





	A fucking metaphor

**Author's Note:**

> Formerly posted as 'Five Times Ellen Was Gay' which was a horrible, horrible title.

Ellen calls her Brook, but never lets on the reason. She doesn’t say it scornfully, but always gentle, in the same way she says “Diablo” in public, only in the silence between the two of them, its always “Brook.” Of course, Ellen is an actress: it could all be mockery.

The first time, Diablo startled a bit, stretching her back. “My mom calls me that, Ellen,” she complained, smiling. She shivered as Ellen traced the name slowly over Diablo’s thighs: B-R-O…

“She _did_ name you,” Ellen said, and shrugged, tilting her head a little better, to get a better view as she took one side and _Brook_ took the other and slid the zebra-striped panties down.

+

Mark puts the coffee down in front of her and launches. “I’m dying to know. In this werewolf thing. Who tops? You or Olivia?” He couldn’t have dreamed it better, because she explodes.

“Jesus Christ, Mark! ‘This werewolf thing.’ You know it’s more than that, okay?” She’s practically shaking. She juts out her chin, crosses her arms, kicks her feet up on the table, almost knocking over the coffee he paid _top dollar_ for, thank-you-very-much. “It’s a fucking metaphor, you know.” She shakes her head at him, casting shame. But she can’t be far from the realization that he’s totally fucking with her.  
“Metaphor, right,” he concedes. “But, just for the sake of argument.” He takes a casual sip, pretending it’s not scalding.

And she can’t stay serious for long, obviously, because the smirk breaks through. “Me. Obviously.” She reaches for her cup thoughtfully. “You know how Thirlby likes to take it.”

+

She skates into a shadow, briefly, then back out, illuminated by stage lighting. This might not be real ice, but it feels like it, under her blades. “You know you want to join me,” she calls out, cupping her hands to her mouth and even as she does it, she knows she sounds like every douche bag at every bar she’s ever tried to avoid. Thankfully, Anna laughs and finishes lacing up, instead of shouting “The fuck I do!” like Ellen’s pretty sure she would have recommended.

Anna takes a preliminary step-slide and smiles across the ugly faux fountain at Ellen. “You and Shawn make all this look nice,” she says quietly, starting up a scraping rhythm across the ice, pumping her arms gently. She looks a little different without the layers, even though the white streak is dyed in. Ellen can’t decide whether Anna is harder or softer than Rogue. She supposes it depends on what she thinks of Rogue. Or maybe what she thinks of Anna.

Ellen thinks she should spin, do some graceful move. But she never took ice skating lessons. She closes her eyes for a moment, pretends to feel the winter breeze. “You make it look nicer,” she whispers.

Rogue wouldn’t have heard her. Rogue wouldn’t have kissed her, either. Ellen decides right then, sinking to the fake ice, skates going all akimbo, that Anna is harder _and_ softer, all at once.

+

They don’t have any actual good music, because that’s probably the point of karaoke.

The girls flip through the book, and Ellen looks for all her stand-bys, wincing a little more when each passes with no luck. Drew keeps squealing over 80s hits – “Let’s Get Physical,” “I Think We’re Alone Now” and “Wicked Game.”

“Ohmygod!” she squeaks, and runs over to the DJ in charge. Ellen figures that Drew’s attempting to keep her request a secret, but she can still hear “Girls… have Fun” and figures it out from there. Isn’t there supposed to be drinking involved in this?

Drew grabs Ellen’s arm and drags her onto the stage. “This one’s a duet,” she insists, eyes twinkling. They turn toward the meager crowd, Drew smoothing down her skirt and tucking Ellen’s hair back for her.

But then the music starts, and it’s all wrong. “Yo, I’ll tell you what I want, what I really, really want,” Drew starts up, bouncing. Ellen’s mildly terrified that she’ll black out. Of course, by the chorus, she’s singing along quietly, reading the monitor, trying not to blush while Drew grinds up against her and tries to convince her that being her lover means getting with her friends.

Zigazig-ha.

+

Three drinks later and Ellen’s on Zoe’s lap, and it’s not Zoe’s fault, cause if anyone here can hold their liquor its Zoe. But everyone’s a bit sloshed, and maybe she likes it a bit. It’s been a while since anyone paid much attention to her, at least in this way. At least in the way that Zoe’s interpreting this. There aren’t many ways to interpret this: tomboy in a pirate costume grinding up against you, hands in your wig, moving closer by the minute. She’s wondering if she’ll have to shame the girl into turning away at a kiss, or worse, if Ellen will try to proposition her out in the group. Zoe’d be lying if she said she didn’t want to. And she’s not exactly innocent of a few touches in return, here and there. It’s a close set. Like a family. They’ve spent weeks holding hands, skating around the rink, doing hip checks into solid walls and collapsing into laughing piles. It’s only natural for things to progress in this fashion, yeah. And it’s not like Ellen’s a baby or anything. She’s quite capable of making her own decisions. She’s not that drunk anyways. Her eyes are clear, Zoe realizes, as they catch. Catch fingertips to the hem of a dress as well, and Zoe gasps out a quick excuse while Ellen laughs, stumbles to her feet. Ellen tastes like Guiness and then like a tart fruit, the memory of which Zoe has long forgotten and longed for without knowing.


End file.
